The Lost Day
by theworldistoomuchwithus
Summary: Anna and St. Clair spend their last day together of Thanksgiving weekend seeing one of St. Clair's favorite monuments. St. Clair POV


**Reading ****_Anna,_**** I always wished that Stephanie had included what Anna and Etienne did on that last Saturday during their Thanksgiving weekend. This is what I wish would have happened, at least from Etienne's point of view.**

* * *

I wake up, barely registering the figure lying next to me. Then I realise – I've done it again – I've slept with Anna. Well I haven't actually _slept _with her, we just shared a bed. For the second night in a row. Sleeping with her, it's the most comfortable I've been in ages.

I wait as long as I can before I rise and use the toilet down the hall. When I come back, she's stooped over her sink, rinsing some sort of white paste off her face. I seize the opportunity and inform her of my plans for our last day together. "Anna, prepare to be dazzled."

I hear her snort as she pats her face dry, and she turns to me, smirking. "And how do you plan on dazzling me? Brushing your hair?"

No matter how much time I with this girl, I'm always surprised by how much she makes me laugh. "No. Even better. Today, we shall conquer yet another of Paris's breathtaking monuments."

"Ooh," her eyes sparkle, and she skips over to stand in front of me. "Sounds dazzling. But first we should shower."

I redden, because although I know that she means we should shower separately, that is not the first scenario that comes to mind.

Either she doesn't notice my embarrassment, or pretends not to (she's always been less awkward than myself in these moments). We decide to meet outside Résidence Lambert at noon. And even though I know for a fact that she isn't overly fond of surprises, she seems giddy for whatever I have planned for today.

That's something that I love about Anna. She lets me surprise her, though it isn't usually in her nature to give up control. With Ellen, she is often the one in control of our dates. Not that today will be a date.

After a quick (solo) shower, I exit Lambert to find Anna on her mobile with her mum.

"Yes, Mom." She throws an apologetic glance my way as I approach her, rolling her eyes. "Listen, I gotta go, but I love you. Talk to you later...Bye."

She tucks her mobile in her pocket and turns to me, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Even though the situation with my mum is beyond shite, her enthusiasm is contagious, and I fling myself towards the metro, grabbing her hand. We sprint down the steps, which lead down to the yellow line, and after a few moments of fumbling through my wallet to find my metro card, I realise that I'm still holding her hand. I drop it immediately, hoping that I'm the only one that finds the situation awkward.

"Aha! Got it, now all we need – " I glance up at Anna and find her stiff, staring at a small rat a few meters away with a look of pure horror. "Anna, it's just a rat. Come along." I grab her hand for the second time that day, silently thanking God that I have another reason to touch her. She doesn't take her wide eyes off the rodent, and backs away as one would from a grizzly bear. I suppress the urge to laugh out loud. After all, she was exceedingly kind when it came to my phobic encounter in the Panthéon.

A train pulls up just as we reach the edge of the platform, as far as I could take her from the rat. Once we've boarded the train, she looks at me. "Sorry… Rats, I just…. They're filthy." She shudders up her nose. "Just imagine where that thing has been. Come to think of it, lets not." She pulls a tissue out of her pocket, using it to grab onto a steel pole as the train lurches forward. She forces a smile, brushing her stripe behind her ear. "So where are we going? Can you tell me now that we're on the train?"

"Oh, I don't need to tell you anything. I think our destination will become quite clear once we reach our stop." She rolls her eyes at me, but I'm glad she's recovered enough from the rat to be excited about our journey again.

A dozen stops later, we reach the end of the line: Grande Arche. By this time, I figured that Anna would have known where we we're going, but she seems as unaware of my plans as before.

As we exit the train and get on an escalator to take us up to the surface, Anna looks around, still clueless as to where I've taken her. "I'll have you know, Monsieur St. Clair, that if you plan on abducting me, I have just spoken with my mother. She knows I'm with you. You will be the lead suspect in my murder investigation." Her mouth is fashioned into a serious frown, but her glinting eyes give her away.

"So first I abducted you, and now I've murdered you? Mademoiselle Oliphant, your opinion of me is abysmal." She flashes a grin at me, but as the escalator breaks surface level, it morphs into amazement.

"Oh..." She stares up at the monument in wonder. "This is where you took that photo last year!" I cock my head at her. "You know, the one with you, Josh, Rash, and Mer. And Ellie…" she trails off, focusing her attention on the building, cheeks ablaze at the mention of my girlfriend.

"Yes, I know exactly the photo that you're referring to. But how do you?" I stare at her outright, ignoring the architectural wonder to my left.

"Oh, it was in Mer's room I think. I saw it a few months ago. But I never knew that the building in the background was here in Paris! It's so…not-Parisian." She glances around the district we're in. "In fact, nothing here really is."

I see her point. We're surrounded by skyscrapers, a good five miles outside the heart of the city. A giant bronze thumb glints in the distance, and there is a very modern air to the place that does not exist in most of Paris' arrondissements.

We climb the steps at the base of the monument, and Anna glances at me from the corner of her eye. "So is there any way that we can get to the top?"

"Well I've heard that there's an elevator, but you'll often find rats in it." It's a weak retort, but it's the most I can manage. Even thinking about going to the top makes me woozy.

After a few more minutes of walking around the base, we decide to sit down on the marble steps in front of the building. There is a perfect view east, where we can just make out L'Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower in the distance. It's nice, sitting in the sun. We edge closer and closer, and eventually Anna rests her head on my shoulder. I don't know what it is about these past couple days, but their events have somehow crumbled the once impenetrable wall between us.

On the steps of that monument, I drift into a deep state of relaxation, and even though there are dozens of people milling around us, Anna and I are in our own little bubble, oblivious to our neighbors. So oblivious, in fact, that a while later an American couple that wants us to move so that they can take "the perfect picture" has to wave their hands in my face in order to get my attention. This rude disruption from our daze startles the both of us, and immediately Anna jumps away from my side. My stomach growls, and it registers that neither of us have actually had anything to eat today.

Seemingly reading my thoughts, or perhaps just hearing my stomach's complaints, Anna suggests that we find some lunch. I know just the place.

Another long metro ride back into the city, Anna and I find ourselves at a small café. A waiter seats us on the sidewalk, and Anna gives me a relieved smile. "I thought you had some sort of trick up your sleeve when you said that you knew where we should eat, but this place," she swings her arms around her, almost knocking a pitcher of mineral water off the table, "if perfectly acceptable."

I smirk at her. "Ah Anna, but you see, I know something you don't know."

"Well that's nothing knew," she says, picking up her menu. "I can't even read this thing."

"Exactly," I say, as the waiter approaches the table. Anna whispers something about what she wants me to order for her, but I pay no attention. Usually, I give Anna the opportunity to practise her French in restaurants, but not today. I order our meals; the waiter gives me a curt nod, and leaves with our menus.

"St. Clair, what did you just order me? I didn't hear anything about a crêpe. Or pommes-frites."

I shake my head. "No. You're right about that. But you'll just have to let your meal be a surprise." I know that I'm pushing it, packing so many unplanned events into one day, but I know that once I flash my most charming smile, Anna won't be able to refuse me.

Some thirty minutes later, our meals arrive, and up until that point she seems perfectly resigned to eating whatever dish I had in store for her. That is, until the waiter announces "Mademoiselle; votre escargot," and with a flourish, placed a streaming plate of shells in front of her. I struggle to keep a straight face as long as possible, but as soon as Anna registers exactly what her entrée is, the look on her face sends me over the edge. I laugh for an indecent amount of time, and somehow fueled by my outburst, Anna snatches one of the half dozen shells in front of her. She meets my eyes, gives me what I suppose she thinks is a determined glare, and sucks down the snail's innards.

Her show would have been legendary, had she not started coughing immediately. "That. Is. Disgusting," she chokes out between gags. "I cannot believe I just swallowed a snail. A snail!" She looks a little wild, sitting there with green juice dribbling down her chin, hands pressed against the tablecloth. She then leans over the table, delicately picks up a shell, and offers it to me, whispering "your turn."

I shake my head. "Oh no, Anna. Escargot is horrid. I just wanted you to try it." I start devouring my own Quiche Lorraine, which I purposefully ordered to be a double serving. I knew that I needed a backup plan for Anna's meal in the (likely) event that she didn't enjoy what she had been served. "Did you know," I say, stuffing a forkful of steaming quiche in my mouth, "that snails are hermaphroditic?"

Her eyes don't leave my plate as I explain the intricacies of the snail's sex organs. After some lengthy graphic descriptions, I offer her a fork, and slide my plate between us. She devours her portion, moaning that it's the best meal she's ever had.

"Even with the snails?"

"Especially with the snails. Now I get to tell my friends back home that I'm officially French."

We wrap up the meal, and I insist on treating her. After all, I ordered the disgusting delicacy. It's turned to dusk, and we decide that rather than take the metro back to Lambert, we will walk the 30 or so minutes.

This turns out to be a bad decision. About five minutes or so away from the residence hall, a light drizzle starts, which quickly turns to a downpour. We race back to the hall, but by the time we reach the door, we're soaked and doubled over laughing. We reach the stairwell, where we decide that we shall reconvene in her room after changing into dry clothes. As she walks away I notice that her thin gray shirt is almost transparent, and imagine what might happen if I went back to her room now, instead, and help her change out of her clothes. Immediately, I feel guilty. I have Ellen. Anna has Toph.

When I knock on her door five minutes later, I'm dressed in a comfortable pair of mesh shorts and my favorite Napoleon t-shirt. She opens the door with her hair up in a ridiculous turban, and she's dressed in her signature strawberry pajama bottoms.

I bow. "It's an honor to be in your presence, Sultan."

She grins and whips the towel off her head, smacking me with it in the arm. "Be careful or I might just put your head up in a turban."

Her hair is still sopping wet from the rain, so I lead her to the floor in front of her bed. I position myself behind her, mimicking the way she dried my hair at the beginning of the weekend, methodically drying each section of her hair. A few minutes later, I feel her slump against me, and although it can't be past eight o'clock, she's fallen asleep.

I finish with her hair, and then gently prod her awake, leading her to her own bed as her eyes droop. It may be because of her drowsiness, or because these past few nights have made us more daring, but instead of stiffening at the edge of her side of the bed, Anna rolls toward me, her face landing just inches away from my own. I turn off the lamp, and after whispering a soft "goodnight," burrow my head into my own pillow, keeping my gaze plastered on her face.

Just the day before, I had pointed out to Anna how desirable she is to the opposite sex. And here in the dark, lying next to her, something shifts in the pit of my stomach. I don't want those other men thinking of her that way, especially _Toph. _What a stupid name. But he makes her happy, I suppose, in I way that I can't. Because I have a girlfriend, something that I keep managing to forget in my days with Anna.

But tonight, I don't want to think of my girlfriend. Is that wrong? I only want to think of the beautiful girl lying beside me, because I know this can't last forever. Tomorrow, everyone will be coming back, and tomorrow night I will be in my own bed. Alone. As I drift off, I match my own breathing to Anna's, wishing I could make everyone else disappear. Everyone except Anna and me.


End file.
